


Fingers Crossed

by MyRegardstotheReader



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One-Shot, reader is in the wrong place the right time, victor being an assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyRegardstotheReader/pseuds/MyRegardstotheReader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor mistakes you for his real mark, which gives you a sprained ankle and leaves you blind without your glasses. Only, if you’re not his kill, you have no reason to fear him… do you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fingers Crossed

“Who are you?” You felt your voice waver as the water of the alley sank into your clothes, and more importantly into your bones. The man stood above you, all you could see were his boots, and the hems of his pants. Your glasses had skittered across the grimy stones. There would be no getting them back. A night of palming along the walls to home where your back-up glasses sat in your bedside table.

“Are you Nancy Bard?” His voice was was strong and firm. You looked up to the fuzzy darkness above him.

“No.” You shivered harshly. “my name is (Y/n)”

Hands reached down into the fuzzy darkness that you could see, and yanked you up to your feet. Your heels were scratching at the stones beneath you, but you couldn’t feel your legs. Not until he placed your firmly on your feet and you cried out in pain. He had caught you by the ankle, and it felt like it was sprained atleast.

“Heels are bad for your ankle health. You ought to wear more exercise friendly shoes.” He stated roughly in your ear. You were in full on panic as you felt arms wrap around your thighs. Then You were hoisted up into the air. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Those arms were around your waist and your hands gripped his shoulders. Doing as he said, you let the now less fuzzy man pull you close on his left him, holding you like a child. Your ankle burned like a bitch, but you found yourself not suffering from it as he holstered the gun he had once held and situated you better on his side.

“I would wear sneakers or crocs if they were in style.” You gasped for air, finding your back and lungs burned now more than ever. Having hit the cold wet ground had knocked the wind out of you and now it was easier to breathe, didn’t mean you weren’t still in pain.

“What do you do?” He asked. You leaned closer to his face to see more of his pale features. There was no hair on his head, and his eyes were fuzzy to you but you could tell they were darkly colored and his nose was straight. But the whole world was blurry without your glasses.

“I’m a fashion designer,” You confessed. “Wait…” You felt him stop walking as you moved enough to crack your back. A groan of relief as you collapsed against him, leaning your head onto his.

“Do I need to check you for injuries?”

“Huh? Oh no… I just… the stress of work and then… you… just hurts…” You grumbled. “Why are you looking for Nancy Bard? What did she do?”

You had lived in Gotham your whole life, if you weren’t aware of how dangerous the city was, you’d be dumb. You met atleast 1 contract killer a month in your line of work. The rich and famous owned killers and mobsters like you owned panties. Getting up and ruffled about a mugging was like stressing out about breathing bad air in new york city. Or the fact that there was endless traffic everywhere. You never carried cash, Your wallet only had your I.D. and your library card and your security pass for whatever show you were in, You only paid for things online, even your groceries so you never had to carry your credit card. You had a tazer in your purse, but you hadn’t needed it so far.

“She stole from my employer. Word on the street was that she was at the fashion show.” He spoke as he picked up your purse. You watched him pull out your wallet and flip to your I.D. Holding it up to the dim lighting of the alley, all you could see was his acknowledgement that you were telling the truth.

“I’m a bad liar, I wouldn’t be able to lie out of a paper bag.” You confessed as he tucked the purse on his arm. The chill of the ground seeped into your clothes, but you didn’t feel it as hard as you were covered in the warmth that his torso gave.

“Must make your job immensely hard, as I find fashion folk are always lying about what looks good.”

Your laugh hurt but you couldn’t help it as he continued to walk. Your heels felt like bricks on your ankles that were screaming. Epsom salt was about to be your best friend.

“Just because you assassin folk only like black and leather.” You teased with a grin. Stopping as his blurry face became clear. He had turned to look at you and the smirk on his lips lit up under the small light of the street.

“Where do you live, I do have a job to finish.”

“My place? Take me to dinner first.” You blurted out, not realizing what had come out of your mouth till it was too late. Treating the assassin like another person doing their job was one thing. But to flirt with one was asking for trouble. You knew better than to get in bed with dangerous people. But this man had come out of the darkness.

You had been walking home from the pre-show, the show was to go live on Saturday and it was Wednesday. You wanted to take a short cut to your apartment when he came out of the shadows. He took our your ankles, and a short blow to your chest had you landing on your back, gasping and grasping for anything around. He had stood above you, a gun pointed at you, despite it being a fuzzy image. Your glasses long since flown off your face.

And this man had then picked you up, carried you like a wounded ally out of the grim and wet of the ground. He even picked up conversation with you. Which most didn’t, they would have let you lay there in the darkness, groaning until you found the ability to move.

“Maybe some other time.” He spoke softly, almost a purr in his throat and you felt a soft smile graced your lips. You whispered your apartment and let him carry you down the road, to the right, into your apartment building, up the stairs. You unlocked the door and kicked off your heels before you turned towards where you thought the blurry man would be. But he wasn’t.

You were alone and you sighed.

“The least he could have done is let me see him with my glasses on.” You snorted, fumbling inside to go to bed. You had a busy few days to work and you needed to put up your ankle, soak it, and curse all your favorite shoe designers for not making them easier on your limbs. As you pulled on your glasses, you thought about the man whom had attempted to kill you, then didn’t, wondering if he’d find his mark, if he’d make good on his raincheck.

Fingers crossed.


End file.
